


Drakascrew #18: Red Alert!

by Worffan101



Category: Command & Conquer (Video Games), Draka Series - S. M. Stirling, Political RPF - 20th-21st c.
Genre: Also the Draka suck, Because it was goddamn fun, Draka are seriously evil, For Raunchel, Gratuitous Putin parody because Putin deserves to be parodied, I blame AH.com, Lots of GLORIOUS MOTHER RUSSIA, Snakestomp, Soviet Motherland shall endure forever!, Victory to the Motherland!, Why Did I Write This?, and screwed, get well soon!, gratuitous Snakestomp, really the Draka are just the worst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 15:42:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7367608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Worffan101/pseuds/Worffan101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Domination of the Draka's absurd luck has run out.  The incredibly powerful Soviet Union of a bizarre alternate 21st century has arrived in the Drakaverse, bringing with it a titanic military, copious nationalism, and a truckload of GLORIOUS MOTHER RUSSIA.  The Draka, not being very bright, have attacked this titanic state, and have drawn the mighty Soviet behemoth's ire.  </p>
<p>Premier Anatoly Cherdenko (Tim Curry with an atrocious Russian accent) orders Comrade-General Natalya Pavlichenko, granddaughter of legendary Soviet sniper Lady Death and supreme commander of the Soviet military, to use any means necessary to defeat these upstart Draka swiftly and decisively.  It's not going to be close, but for the oppressed slaves of the Draka it's definitely going to be good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drakascrew #18: Red Alert!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Raunchel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raunchel/gifts).



> This was originally posted on alternatehistory.com, and uses a format more common to that site--it's constructed as a timeline rather than a traditional fanfic, but with some POV bits from various characters. I regret nothing. 
> 
> Thanks to Raunchel and theg*ddam*hoi2fan for beta'ing! 
> 
> Before we get started, some rules:
> 
> \--All Red Alert tech works as normal for the setting, as do Draka steam-tech-things. 
> 
> \--Draka keep their territory and have helicopters, 1960s infantry weapons, and an industrialization level similar to modern Africa as a whole (though they're still top dog due to the artificial stupidity that just lapsed making everybody else weaker). No Bomb (Draka are working on it and the Soviets are working on the Vacuum Imploder, though), Draka have no rockets or jets. Rest of the world is proportionally industrialized; Draka only happened because artificial stupid. 
> 
> \--Logistics are a thing, as are tactics. Thus, if you try to invade Germany through the Caucasus, you will get screwed. 
> 
> \--Drakaverse artificial stupidity is not in effect. Anywhere. Draka are not invincible supermen. Other nations react realistically to the Draka (Stupid virus was cured by Soviet arrival). However, stupidity that I deem a feature of Draka culture (i.e. anything reasonably possible for a giant Nazi Spartan Confederate state) stays. 
> 
> \--Because Red Alert, there will be a LOT of over-the-top Soviet stuff, and a truckload of GLORIOUS MOTHER RUSSIA! 
> 
> \--For best effect, imagine all Soviet characters as speaking in ludicrously over-the-top Russian accents. Especially Comrade Putin. 
> 
> On morals and ethics: Yeah, the Soviets are bad. Truckloads of propaganda, state press only, the only actual free elections are those within the Communist Party (and therefore only open to members of the Party), re-education camps, show trials, and summary execution...but since this is Red Alert, they at least treat their people with humanity. As long as they love Socialist Labor, of course. I could go into an essay here about how I headcanon the Allies and Soviets in Red Alert as being just as “corrupt but mostly benevolent to their own people hyper-nationalist militarists” as each other, but that would take several pages and that’s not what we’re here for. 
> 
> IN a nutshell, the Glorious Soviet Motherland as portrayed in this fic is a semi-democratic, militaristic, and hyper-nationalistic state. Elections are only within the Communist Party, but the people have a little say in government, and the government at least tries to keep them well-fed and all. On the other hand, the Soviets are total douchebags to their enemies, encouraging hyper-nationalist fervor in their troops, using WMDs, and throwing prisoners of war into the Gulag with nothing more than show trials. Compared to the Draka, though? Well, Hail Soviet Motherland, for we have been saved from the guys who make the Nazis look good by comparison.

_The Kremlin, Capital of Glorious Soviet Motherland (Moscow, Russian Federative Socialist Republic, USSR). 1800 hours, January 4th, 2010/1945._   
  
Premier Cherdenko slammed a fist into his desk with rage. On the viewscreen, Comrade-General Natalya Pavlichenko, the granddaughter of a great Hero of the Soviet Union, was unmoved.  
  
"I do not want excuses!" Cherdenko bellowed, his accent thick and un-placeable as always. "I want to know why our garrisons in central Asia and the Caucasus were attacked!"   
  
"As I informed you, Comrade Premier, the assailants were an armed force speaking bastardized English, claiming allegiance to a "Domination of Draka". As you are no doubt aware, Comrade-Premier, no such power exists, whether in the Warsaw Pact or the Capitalist Bloc. We have operatives scouring the airwaves now; we appear to be in the early 1940s, during the early stages of the Great Patriotic War. Even now these Draka are engaged in a struggle against the foul Fascist oppressors."   
  
"Time travel?" Oddly, Cherdenko seemed not so much incredulous as _surprised_. "Hmm. Well, Comrade-General, your orders are self-evident, then. Determine all that you can about this "Domination", and brief me on their readiness for Glorious Soviet Revolution in two days. Until then, hold the frontier. I will set up a war command; Comrade Dacha will be your liaison to the Kremlin. You must command our armies...and conquer!"   
  
"Understood, Comrade Premier. Glory to Mother Russia." The communication cut off.   
  
Premier Cherdenko settled back in his chair and smiled. "Time travel, eh? I suppose that I could not hold the monopoly on that province forever…Well, the fools who have caused this will soon feel Soviet power!"   
***  
 _Afghan Worker's Province, Central Asian People's Republic._  
  
Comrade-General Natalya Pavlichenko, highest-ranked Ukrainian in the Soviet army, strode into the interrogation room with a scowl, dressed to the nines in a crisply-pressed uniform. "You are relieved, Comrade. Guard the door." The burly Siberian on guard duty saluted and took his place. Natalya sat, opposite the prisoner--the most senior officer captured after the battle-bears and aircraft had finished with the Draka forces. "Prisoner 1837. I am General Natalya Pavlichenko, Hero of Socialist Labor first class, of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. You were captured from imperialist forces during an unlawful and treacherous attempt to subjugate the revolutionary proletariat of our people's state. I am here to offer you a deal: You will give us all information that you have on the disposition and positions of your state's armed forces, the workings of your state, and its political situation. In return, we will not kill you, and will send you to a comfortable retirement in the worker's paradise of Siberia. What is your decision?"   
  
The man, a blonde man of Western European extraction, scoffed and spat. "I'm a citizen o' th' Race. I don't talk to Slavscum sluts."   
  
"Very well." Natalya pulled out her pistol and shot him point-blank between the eyes. "Bring the next."   
  
On the other side of the two-way mirror, another Draka soldier was pulled from his group and shuffled out to replace the deceased man. Natalya checked her regulation-clipped nails in the meantime.   
  
The second Draka prisoner was brought in and shackled to the table, then his former superior's corpse was dragged out by his ankles. Natalya lowered her hand and focused on the second, nearly identical blonde imbecile--the main difference being that this one actually looked a little nervous. "Prisoner 1946. I am General Natalya Pavlichenko, Hero of Socialist Labor first class, of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. You were captured from imperialist forces during an unlawful and treacherous attempt to subjugate the revolutionary proletariat of our people's state. I am here to offer you a deal: You will give us all information that you have on the disposition and positions of your state's armed forces, the workings of your state, and its political situation. In return, we will not kill you, and will send you to a comfortable retirement in the worker's paradise of Siberia. What is your decision?"   
  
The man spat at her face, missing by a few inches. "Fook yer, Slav whore!"   
  
Natalya shot him in the face. "Bring in the next."   
  
It took sixteen Draka before one grew some sense and caved. Natalya had him shipped off to a re-education camp to be re-educated in Communist principles by spending the rest of his life lifting rocks on little food. Being a working-class woman whose grandmother had always warned her of the evils of Fascism and imperialism, Natalya didn't particularly like the Drakas' attitude. And besides, she _had_ promised them Siberia.   
  
Two hours later, Natalya stood over a battle map of Europe, Africa, and Asia, showing both the putative Domination of Draka and the Glorious Soviet Motherland. The roars of battle bears echoed in the background, the chopping rotors of twinblades filling the air as the armies of the Motherland mustered for the attack.   
  
"Our lynchpin is formed by strikes here, here, and here," Natalya ordered, pointing out the cities marked "So-called Archona", "Cairo", and "Casablanca". "Amphibious assault on all three, moving the fleet in as fast as possible. First, however, we must create a distraction. This world is hideously underdeveloped, with this backwards 'Domination' the greatest industrial power in the world prior to our arrival. This presents a great opportunity, as the Soviet Union is now more industrialized than the entirety of the capitalist world. We will launch a strike force through Iran, and use Kirovs to destroy the idiots attempting to push into the Caucasus. When their main army is tied up with our forces, we will strike at the primary targets with a full amphibious, air-supported assault. Naval combat is apparently foreign to this world, and our navy represents the ultimate sea power. General Krukov is holding the Western frontier; without the Warsaw Pact as a buffer, the Motherland is at risk until these imperialist dogs are put down. Any questions?"   
  
A hand raised. Natalya nodded. "Comrade Volkova?"   
  
Natalya's top commando and fellow Ukrainian stood. "Comrade-General, we will need fuel and supplies. The Caucasus oil fields will only last so long."   
  
"This is why we are going to seize the Middle East, comrade. We hit them like a hammer, move to take the oil fields in Arabia and secure Iran, then support our Socialist brothers among the Draka working class. You are our best agent, Comrade Volkova; this shall be your duty."   
  
"Yes, Comrade-General," replied the sniper and commando with a salute.   
  
"Any other questions?"   
  
No hands appeared. Natalya nodded. "I will handle logistics with the Kremlin. Fight well for the Motherland!"   
***  
 _Japanese territorial waters, Empire of Japan. February 5th, 1945._   
  
Grand Admiral Yamamoto Isoroku knew that the old world was gone.   
  
The Emperor's great navy, _Nagato_ at its head, the greatest fleet in the Pacific if not the world, looked like a child's toys before the tide of warships flying the Red Flag that steamed by, bound for some unknown location. Hundreds strong, even the smallest vessel twice as large as its Japanese equivalent; the former hermit kingdom's navy was a moving monument of industrial power.   
  
At the Grand Admiral's side, General Yamashita swore. "Well, if we feed them Manchuria and Korea, we might survive."   
  
"We can only hope," Yamamoto replied. "Although, perhaps a more conciliatory approach would be better. We should discover who the Soviets march to war against, and aid them accordingly. If we move swiftly and intelligently..."   
  
"...the Emperor may not be compelled to order us to do the honorable thing for being crushed by this fleet."   
  
"Precisely."   
  
"I will make inquiries," Yamashita said. "And may the _kami_ preserve us."   
***  
 _Central Iran, Domination of Draka. February 20th, 1945._   
  
Comrade Ivan Petrovitch Ivanov, soldier of the Glorious People's Liberation Division of the Red Army, powered up his Tesla gauntlets and shocked the oncoming blonde Draka into ash with both hands. The alleged superman's training was ineffective against superior Soviet technology and the products of Socialist Labor, just as the new propaganda said.   
  
Honestly, Ivan had expected this result. These Draka had sounded like idiots from the first transmissions that he'd heard, talking about the glories of their "master race" when every good Communist knew that only the power of the working class was strong enough to rule the world. And yet these idiots thought to enslave the working class even more openly than imperialists normally did! Well, at least the people would be ripe for Soviet Revolution.   
  
"Comrade Yanukovich, with me please," Ivan said to his antimateriel-armed escort. "There is a village up ahead, likely with civilians. If we hurry, we can win the Comrade-General's competition for liberating the most people in one day!"   
  
"I'll cover you," the Belarussian man replied with a nod. Ivan strode forward, the hammer and sickle on his power-armor gleaming in the sun, and carefully picked his way through the corpses of Draka soldiers and the cowering local civilians to a relatively central location. Then he pulled back his visor and addressed the crowd.   
  
"Comrades of the people's revolution! You are freed from your chains, and the jackboot of the imperialist oppressors!" Ivan raised his arms a tad theatrically. "I am Comrade Ivan Petrovich, of the Soviet Union! Follow me to glorious proletarian freedom!"   
  
There was no response for a moment, then one of the younger women, her face scarred by an imperialist slaver's whip (Ivan felt righteous rage stir at the thought of a fellow farmer's child being whipped like some animal), looked slowly up at him. "What...what does proletarian freedom mean, Master?" she asked, flinching in terror as she finished.   
  
"There is no need for fear, Comrade, and I am your comrade, your equal, not an imperialist master. Proletarian freedom is the glorious state of the Soviet Union! In our sacred Motherland, all men and women are comrades in the worker's struggle! Everyone is equal, everyone is free, and all of us spit on the imperialist oppressors and work as comrades in Socialist Labor. Like you, I am the son of a farmer! My father's father's father chafed under the foul yoke of imperialist slavers as you do, but in the great Soviet revolution, our family was freed for the proletarian struggle. Now I am a great soldier of the glorious Red Army! These great freedoms and more await you in the Soviet Motherland!"   
  
"Free?" the young woman asked, like she didn't understand. "You mean...no master? No whip?"   
  
"In the Soviet Union, there are no masters, only comradely workers striving for the revolution! There will be no whips, you will go to sleep full of food every night, and you will be given appropriate compensation for your socialist labor. What do you say, Comrade? Will you build Socialism for the Revolution with me?"   
  
The young woman's face set. "If there is no master and no whip, and food every night, I will fight for you until I am dead."   
  
"Excellent! Come, Comrade, stand by me! Comrade Yanukovich, give this brave comrade a gun. Well, my brothers of the working class? Will you stand with me and this brave young woman? Will you fight for the glorious revolution?"   
  
One by one, heads rose, watching in awe as Yanukovich gave the new Soviet a pistol, and showed her how to hold and aim it. Then, one by one, the former slaves rose and moved to stand with the armored trooper, until there were none left kneeling. Ivan smiled. Yes, he'd definitely win the daily recruitment drive.   
  
"Excellent! Follow me, Comrades! We shall return to the main army, and then you will be given better clothes and a place in the glorious Red Army!"   
***  
February 27th, 1945: Soviet troops land en masse in Anatolia, shattering Draka supply lines and supported easily by a marine logistics train across the Black Sea.   
***  
 _Soviet forward command base. Tehran, Liberated Provinces of the Provisional Fraternal Persian People's Republic. 2300 hours, March 5th, 1945._   
  
"Keep the logistics train reinforced, and make sure that the supply airships over the mountains are not delayed," Comrade-General Natalya ordered tiredly. "Comrade Dacha, inform Comrade Premier Cherdenko that we need all of the fuel that he can spare to keep up this pace. Now, my spies have informed me that the imperialist scum are moving their armies to counter our main force, but the Riga fleet has taken Casablanca and the other invasion forces will be striking their targets within the hour. Comrade Volkova has made contact with a budding people's revolution in Draka-controlled Africa that started up two weeks ago; we are moving infiltrators in to prepare for a full-scale revolutionary uprising. We must move quickly to secure the oil fields, then weather the blow of the imperialist armies. I will update orders as needed. You have your orders; fight bravely for Mother Russia!"   
  
Natalya saluted and was saluted by her officers, then turned and strode away for her tent. Her new aide, a former slave of the imperialist Draka turned Revolutionary Comrade of the Proletariat, followed, dressed crisply in a Red Army uniform just as the General was. "Comrade-General?"   
  
"Yes, Comrade Lina?"   
  
"If the ma--the imperialist slavers beat us, what happens to me?"   
  
"I am confident that the proletariat will be victorious," Natalya replied, knowing the strength of the Glorious People's Liberation Division of the Red Army and having rather good information on Draka troop numbers and command strategies, "but if the worst happens, then all comrades will be evacuated, or shot to save them from imperialist slavery if evacuation is impossible and the situation completely hopeless. The highest-ranking officers will shoot themselves, for the eternal freedom of the working man must come first. Is that satisfactory?"   
  
Comrade Lina nodded, a shade hesitantly. "I...yes, Comrade-General. Anything is better than the Draka."   
  
Natalya grimaced at that. "Damn right. I've tortured imperialists and seen some nasty experiments done by the deep-science divisions in my time, but _nothing_ like what those Draka filth do to their people on a daily basis." She shook her head with a grimace. "At least our side has the decency to go no further than corrupt leadership." She held open the flap to her tent. "You've figured out buttons by now?"   
  
"Yes, Comrade-General, although...I still feel...strange, in these clothes."   
  
"Feel safe in them, Comrade. That uniform means that you have the entire Red Army behind you--tens of millions of valiant comrades ready to fight for your proletarian freedom." Natalya saluted, crisply. "Wear the uniform with pride, Comrade, for Mother Russia! Now, I must contact the Comrade Premier Cherdenko; you should probably go to your cot, you have a long day of training tomorrow."   
  
"At once, Comrade-General."   
***  
March 11th, 1945: Red Army Amphibious Assault Force takes Cairo and Archona, with Soviet airstrikes, makeshift orbital bombardments, and naval attacks shattering the Draka war fleet in the Mediterranean and leaving the slavers with nothing but a coast guard around Africa, nowhere near enough to even hinder the People's Liberation Navy. Soviet battle bears and tanks under Comrade-General Vladimir Vladimirovitch Putin, known as "The New Soviet Man" and a propaganda hero, now hold Anatolia, trapping the Draka expeditionary force in Europe. Draka leadership, including the Archon, is captured by Soviet Tesla troopers.   
  
Draka air force attempts massive counterattacks against the Soviet advance in Iran, but is repelled by twinblades, Soviet jets, and troopers armed with surface-to-air weaponry. Draka air casualties are over 98%.   
***  
 _March 12th, 1945. Abyssinia province, Domination of Draka._  
  
“Faster!” The whip cracked; the old man who was hit didn’t cry out, knowing that the punishment for doing so would be far worse. “Faster, yo’ fuckin’ dog! Fuckin’ nigger, work faster! Work faster or I shoot yo’ up the ass!”   
  
Comrade-Lieutenant Natasha Volkova kept her head down, but brushed two fingers across the back of the hand of the man toiling next to her, a titanic dark-skinned man called Mubutu. Mubutu grunted affirmatively and moved several steps to the side. Natasha reached carefully beneath her filthy slave rags and grasped the silenced holdout pistol that was strapped to her leg.   
  
“Hey! Back in line, yo’ fuckin’ nigger!” The Draka overseer saw Mubutu turning off towards the distant forest edge and strode over, pulling out his own pistol. “Get back in line, yo’ fuckin’ dog, or I’ll…”   
  
As the man passed Natasha, she dropped her sack of cotton, stood up with one fluid movement, whipped out her gun, and shot him in the back of the head. There was a muffled crack, and the Draka’s head erupted with blood and bits of bone and brain. “Time to move!” she snapped. Mubutu turned with a broad grin.   
  
“Time t’kill some massuhs?”   
  
“Indeed, Comrade!” Natasha grabbed the overseer’s pistol, tossed the whip to Mubutu, and motioned to the other slaves around her. “Comrade Anastasia—" Natasha motioned to a former slave whose previous name had been a sexual slur-- "Take Comrade Jem and see to his wounds.” Jem, the old man, protested, but Anastasia shushed him. “The rest of you, it is time to fight for our proletarian freedom! I will lead with Comrade Mubutu. We storm the house, kill all the slaver pigs, and take all the weapons we can see. _Za Rodinu_!”   
  
The slaves hissed their support; Natasha had warned them to be quiet, even on a small plantation like this, with only the one overseer for this field, there would be guards.   
  
There would not, however, be guards for very long.   
  
Natasha and Mubutu kept low as they approached the house, using a decorative hedgerow to get close to the opulent Draka mansion. As Natasha had expected from her scouting mission, the door guards (two half-Draka sons of the previous plantation owner) were slouching in two folding chairs and playing cards as a slave maid served them. Mubutu tensed next to Natasha as one of the guards groped the maid’s chest and made a crude comment; Natasha held out an arm to block him and shook her head. _Not yet_ , she mouthed. _I’ll do it._ _Then, you move._   
  
Mubutu nodded and prepared himself to leap forwards. Natasha cocked the slaver’s pistol and aimed carefully through the brush…  
  
The maid gasped in surprise as one slaver’s head burst. The other shouted in surprise, falling backwards off of his chair. Mubutu was already moving, the giant ex-slave covering the ground between the hedgerow and the door in seconds. The slaver cursed, untangling himself from the chair and trying to grab his rifle as he stood…  
  
Mubutu grabbed the smaller man around the neck with two massive hands, lifted him easily off of the ground, and squeezed. The guard gurgled, eyes wide with terror, clutching at the ex-slave’s hands…and Mubutu crushed his neck. The dead man slumped, and Mubutu dropped him, then kicked his head, hard, for good measure.   
  
“Move!” ordered Natasha. Mubutu raised one giant foot and kicked the door in with a crash. He grabbed a knife to go with his whip from the headshotted slaver, and tossed a rifle to Natasha, leaving the other rifle and knife to other proletarians.   
  
“Comrade Tatiana,” formerly a slave called ‘Bitch’, “take six and hit the dining room, then sweep the floor! Comrade Mubutu, the sitting room, with me!”   
  
Mubutu nodded. “Ya, Comrade.”   
  
“What’s goin’ on?” shouted an outraged middle-aged man, emerging from the sitting room as Natasha rounded the corner. “Who—oh, sh…”   
  
Natasha shot him in the knee, and the man went down, screaming.   
  
“Pa?” A burly, younger man, armed with pistol and knife, charged into the doorway. “Yo’! Yo’ fuckin’ feral, I’ll…” Natasha shot him in the gut, and the man collapsed with a wet gurgle.   
  
“The woman’s not here,” growled Natasha, kicking the older man in the face and stepping on his throat as he tried to get up. “Comrade Piotr,” formerly ‘Dog’, “search the upper level with four men,” Mubutu grabbed the pistol and knife off of the downed younger Draka and tossed them to the men behind Natasha, “kill her. _Za Rodinu_!”   
  
“ _Za Rodinu_!” replied the little black man with a grin, grabbing the pistol with a salute and motioning to the men behind him.   
  
Mubutu grabbed the younger Draka in a headlock and hauled him half to his feet, nestling the Draka’s neck in the crook of his mighty arm. “Good mornin’, massuh Saul!” he said cheerfully. “I remembers when yo’ was jus’ a little boy! Liked chokin’ little nigger boys, yo’ did, eh? Got all horny an’ hot off o’ that, didn’t yo’? I remembers, ‘cause yo’ did like doin’ it to me in particulars, didn’t yo’?” Saul gasped and wheezed, clawing in vain at Mubutu’s arm. The blood loss from his gut wound was already starting to take hold, as was the shock. Mubutu kept smiling, his teeth a brilliant pale crescent against his deep brown skin. “How’s it feel now, eh? Massuh like chokin’, huh? Massuh like that?” He gripped a little tighter, and Saul wheezed desperately. “Well, what a shame, ‘cause I ain’t yo’ slave no more. I’m a Comrade o’ the Soviet Motherland, now! An’ I don’t need t’give yo’ what yo’ wants no more! Ain’t that just pretty?” Saul wheezed, flailing growing weaker. “But mebbe I gives yo’ a chance, eh? Yo’ Draka want loyal slaves, eh? Loyal slave should give his massuh a little last work before he leaves, eh? You thanks me, for loyal service, an’ I chokes yo’, just like yo’ likes?” He relaxed, slightly. Saul gasped, sucking in breath after breath. “Well, massuh?” Mubutu asked. “What does yo’ say to me, eh?”   
  
Saul tried to haul himself free, scrabbling at Mubutu’s massive, scarred arm to no effect. Mubutu merely smiled. Saul cursed, kicking out with his weakening feet, blood spurting onto the floor. “Fook yo’, yo’ fuckin’ serf! I’ll impale yo’, an’ rape yo’ girl right in fron’ of yo’!”  
  
Mubutu merely smiled. “What a shame, ain’t that just so. Goodbye, massuh.”   
  
The massive arm flexed. Saul’s neck snapped.   
  
Natasha hit the dying man beneath her foot with the butt of her rifle, shattering his teeth. “You want a go at this one, Comrade?”   
  
Mubutu shook his head. “No, thankee. I’ll get me many Draka kills, soon ‘nuf. You can ‘ave this one.”  
  
“As you wish.” Natasha put the Draka out of his misery with a bullet. From above, there came the sounds of a scuffle, several shouts, and an agonized female scream that cut off into a wet gurgle. “And that’s the female slaver. Good work, Comrade!”   
  
“Good work t’yo’, too, Comrade!” Mubutu replied with a grin. “ _Za Rodinu_!”   
  
“ _Za Rodinu_ , Comrade,” Natasha replied with a grin and a salute. These soldiers would do well. And with every plantation that fell…the Motherland would grow stronger from its new allies.   
***  
March 12th, 1945. Massive serf uprisings take place across the Domination. Thousands of Draka civilians are torn apart, burned alive in their homes, or simply shot. With 3/4 of the already small Draka army in Europe, the Draka are reduced to using Janissary regiments to suppress the revolts; this makes matters worse, as many Janissaries defect outright, taking their guns and training to the rebels.   
  
March 15th, 1945. Empire of Japan under Emperor Yoshiro (looks just like George Takei in the '60s, and is just as sexy) formally allies with the Soviet Union and establishes a beachhead in Yemen for the Soviet bloc. Soviet forces control 3/4 of Iran. Battle bears skirmish with Draka expeditionary force's advance scouts; dissension in the ranks is rising as the Draka realize that they are surrounded and vastly outnumbered by a fuckhuge number of pissed-off Janissaries, who are no longer utterly loyal.   
  
March 18th, 1945: Soviet commanders are ordered to transport the Draka leadership to the capital of the Soviet Motherland via airship. Japanese forces take Aden. Soviet amphibious forces take Rabat, Tangiers, and Cape Town, then begin fortifying to avoid overextension. Soviet air power is uncontested even over Draka airspace now; the sheer overpowering efficiency of Soviet twinblades, jet fighters, and airship-mounted guided missiles has reduced the Draka airforce to about twenty propeller monoplanes that are being held in reserve in Zimbabwe.   
  
March 27th, 1945: Japan strikes at Mecca in a daring raid, landing troops on the nearest coast and striking inland. Draka resistance is weak at best, the majority of the troops being in Europe or being slaughtered in the Middle East. Serf uprising now de facto controls the Congo, Tanzania, and Kenya. The captured Draka leadership arrives in Moscow and is promptly put on trial for "long-term oppression of the People of Africa".   
  
March 28th, 1945: Soviets invade Iraq, proceeding with unprecedented speed against meager at best Draka resistance. Large portions of the Draka army in Europe disintegrate under popular uprising and internal divisions, leaving a much-reduced force to try to push past the Bosporus without the Draka navy to help them. Draka citizen units become increasingly desperate as Jannisary units hunt them like rats, and rebels hunt both groups down for revenge. On the African front, Soviet airstrikes level Johannesburg’s defenses ahead of the army’s advance; until now, the Draka have not needed air defenses due to Drakaverse stupidity affecting their enemies, and so are unfamiliar with the very concept. On the diplomatic front, UK ambassadors reach the Soviet Union. Finland accepts Soviet aid against the remnant Draka force that’s trying to push through Scandanavia, figuring that they're going to be absorbed either way and at least the Reds don't actively torture their people on a daily basis.   
  
March 29th, 1945: Comrade-General Natalya Pavlichenko officially announces that the Fraternal Persian People's Republic is now an official Soviet republic rather than a provisional state. General Krukov, negotiating with Finnish partisans, allows the Republic of Finland to exist as an independent entity as long as it signs very exclusive trade deals with the USSR; the Finns are remarkably happy with this, although the Premier privately fumes. US ambassadors reach the USSR. Red Army amphibious forces under Comrade-General Putin secure the Suez Canal.   
  
April 2nd, 1945: Purges of remaining Draka prisoners and suspected sympathizers are unofficially encouraged in the Persian SSR (formerly Fraternal Persian People’s Republic) as the NKVD hands out outdated and surplus arms to former serfs. Over a million Draka will be slaughtered ruthlessly over the next three months in brutal, sometimes NKVD-organized revenge killings.   
  
April 6th, 1945: After a brief, televised show trial, the leaders of the Draka state are publicly executed by firing squad. Except for the Archon, who is strung up and derided at length for hours as a "former oppressor of the working class", then sent to the Kremlin's basement to be tortured for information. Comrade-General Krukov and Comrade-General Pavlichenko are cited for "great services to the working class" by the Party Central Committee. Comrade-General Pavlichenko, working with Putin and Krukov’s vanguard, enacts a bold new strategy to destroy Draka hold-outs in Thrace and Macedonia.   
***  
 _April 8th, 1945. Near Istanbul, Turkish Provisional Socialist Republic, formerly Domination of the Draka._   
  
"In retrospect," Comrade-General Natalya remarked to her former-slave aide, "letting part of their force across the Bosporus was a good idea."   
  
"Comrade-General?" Lina asked, fidgeting slightly in her starched uniform.   
  
"If we had attacked before they began to cross in earnest, then they may have stayed in Europe and caused Comrade-General Krukov many problems as he finishes off the Fascists and begins setting up fraternal socialist republics. This way, we killed many more of them on the strait, and now they are split between Europe and Anatolia. Here, we will crush this part of their force, and in Greece their remaining forces will be annihilated by Comrade-General Krukov and the new weapon that we’re bringing in from Leningrad." Natalya nodded sharply. "Clean, efficient, simple. Just the way I like to run a military operation."   
  
A messenger ran up to Natalya's vantage-point. "Comrade-General, news from the front and from Europe!"   
  
"Tell me."   
  
"Our battle bears and tanks have broken through the imperialist lines, Comrade-General! Also, large sections of their army are surrendering, claiming to be "Janissaries" and requesting mercy."   
  
Lina hissed. "They're the Draka's attack dogs, traitors to their fellow serfs, as bad as the damned cowardly imperialists! Comrade Natalya, you can't let them live!"   
  
Natalya held up a hand. "We will send them to the re-education camps, where they will freeze and starve for the rest of their bourgeois lives. A fate, I feel, that is harsher than a mere swift death. What news from Europe, Comrade?"   
  
"Comrade Krukov has taken Berlin, and has begun setting up a socialist republic in the liberated territory of Poland, Comrade-General. Soon Germany, too, will be liberated from the Fascist jack-boot, and our beloved Japanese armies have met Comrade-General Putin in the Levant. The Middle East is ours, Comrade-General."   
  
"Excellent. Order the twinblades to make strafing runs on the Draka army here, and prepare the Fist of the People for deployment on the force across the strait. We will destroy them, and then move down to Africa. Dismissed."   
  
The messenger saluted and rushed off. Comrade-General Natalya clasped her hands behind her back and turned to her aide. "Come, Comrade Lina. Witness the fall of the imperialist oppressors to our Socialist Labor. The world is at our disposal, my Comrade."   
***  
April 7th-9th: Draka vanguard crosses the Bosporus on boats stolen from the locals, desperate to get back to Anatolia and push through to the homeland. The Soviet navy moves in behind them, however, and Comrade-General Pavlichenko orders an airstrike with a Soviet superweapon, the “Vacuum Imploder”, on the remaining Draka army in the Balkans. Ten thousand Draka soldiers are killed instantly. The remainder surrender. The vanguard tries to fight, but is outflanked by tanks and battle bears, and the last five hundred soldiers surrender to the Soviet Motherland at 0800 hours on the 9th.   
  
April 10th: The unstoppable Soviet advance finally halts, as oil supplies are drawing low and the sheer speed of the advance has stretched logistics to their limit. Soviet civilian engineers begin setting up drilling rigs in Iran and Arabia, the latter of which is under the constant watchful gaze of Soviet airships. Comrade-General Pavlichenko and Comrade-General Putin discuss their assault on the Draka homeland. Over eight hundred and fifty thousand people, mostly Draka citizens, have died in the now full-scale civil warfare in Africa. Comrade-General Pavlichenko calls a conference with Comrade-General Putin; she wishes to eliminate all Draka citizen resistance and establish Soviet order across the continent by the end of July, an ambitious project to be sure, but one that the Soviet leadership feels is within reach. General orders are sent out; Comrade-General Putin is to take all remaining movable forces in North Africa in a strike south against Draka holdouts in the Sudan, beachhead forces are to cease expansion and hold their positions, fortifying and preparing for reinforcement and resupply.   
  
April 14th: Comrade-General Putin takes an infantry and battle-bear division down the Nile, using less fuel-heavy units to attack the Draka core. Morocco, the Cape, and Egypt are under Soviet control. Parts of Arabia, Somalia, and Madagascar are under allied Japanese control. The Draka have lost over three-quarters of their citizen armed forces in the past three months, and the Jannisary units have been reduced to bandits roaming the African interior. Rebels supported by Soviet agents found a "Brotherly Free and Liberated Socialist People's Republic of Libya" and seize alt-Tripoli, alt-Misrata, and alt-Benghazi. Being a Soviet product, this ‘state’ is at best only barely what its name says, except Libya, but at least doesn't brutalize its own people on a daily basis as standard policy.   
  
April 18th: The former Archon of Draka, Edwina Palme, finally expires after twelve straight days of constant agonizing pain. NKVD torturers express their disappointment at her lack of endurance to the Premier. At this point, the Domination has completely lost control of central Africa, and Soviet strikes and conquest have limited effective Draka control to inner Zimbabwe and bits of the southern Sahara. A massive wave of supply ships is on its way from Iranian Soviet ports to locations in Cairo and Putingrad (formerly Archona)  
  
April 26th: Comrade-General Putin lays siege to Khartoum, and calls for airship reinforcement after eliminating meager Draka air defenses. Casualties have been relatively heavy due to little armor support against Draka armored divisions, but the splintering remains of Draka control have made the bold Soviet strike less costly than anticipated.   
  
In Europe, the Soviet Union’s relatively outdated Western Front divisions are approaching France. Germany is too busy trying to find leaders to surrender properly. All Draka forces in the Middle East and Europe have either surrendered or been systematically hunted down and exterminated by Soviet rearguard forces. Over twenty thousand Draka soldiers will survive long enough to spend the rest of their lives digging in chains in gulags in Siberia.   
  
May 2nd: Khartoum surrenders to the Red Army. Empire of Japan takes the Mascarenes since nobody's looking, in order to secure a stepping-stone in the Indian Ocean. Desperate Draka divisions, starving and fighting off constant rebel raids, attack Soviet fortifications at Rabat and are repelled. Soviet supply fleets land near Putingrad and at the Sinai, and the invincible war machine of the Soviet Motherland prepares to march again…  
***  
 _Khartoum, former Domination of the Draka. May 4th, 1945_  
  
  
  
Comrade-General Vladimir Vladimirovitch Putin, bare-chested to showcase his rippling manly muscles, rode manfully astride a great Soviet battle bear as his troops cheered from the rooftops and the newly-liberated people howled their joy. Putin manfully drove the captured imperialist leaders before him, feeling manly and laden with testosterone as the humiliated, stripped-naked Draka stumbled and wept, mud and worse splattering them as the people threw every disgusting that they could find at the former oppressors of the Sudanese people. Putin's masculine blood heated the air around him, the oil covering his Herculean form glistening in the hot sun and fiery air of his manly Russian manhood. Truly, there was no greater defender of the sacred motherland of Mother Russia! Putin smiled and saluted the crowd, women fainting in awe at the very sight of the powerful Russian's manly and vigorous muscles.   
  
It was a good day to be a Hero of the Communist Working Class, to be sure.   
  
A respectful distance behind Putin, his division's standard-bearers, Yuri and Piotr, held the Red Flag high from the backs of their own battle bears (rather smaller and weaker than Putin's own towering specimen, to be fair). Behind them, a full battalion of the Red Army's finest soldiers marched in comradely duty, fighting righteously for the working-class people of the proletariat. Or, as Putin translated that mess of propaganda, looked really good while transferring the people from “hideous, constant torture and oppression” to “propaganda-laden oppression”.   
  
Privately, Putin felt that "the working class" was an excellent excuse to invade and puppetize other nations, and wondered what excuse he'd use without Communism. Poor oppressed Russian-speakers, perhaps? No, that was absurd, nobody would ever buy _that_.   
  
"Comradely Leader!" shouted a junior officer, sprinting up alongside Putin's great Russian bear. "Comradely Leader, news from the Kremlin! Comrade-General Krukov has annihilated the imperialists in Europe, and has announced a People's Republic in Germany! The New Warsaw Pact and our glorious Soviet Motherland together control everything from the Rhine to the Pacific!”   
  
Putin manfully furrowed his mighty brow, but his masculine lips twitched upwards in satisfaction as the manly battle bear beneath his legs roared mightily. “Good. Inform Comrade-General Pavlichenko that I, Comrade-General Putin, have liberated the Sudanese People’s Fraternal Socialist Republic from the Draka filth. Glory to the Motherland! _Za Rodinu, za Stalina!_ ”   
  
“Glory to the Motherland!” The junior officer fell back as the parade proceeded. Putin drew himself up higher in his mighty seat as the manly battle bear roared again; truly, it was a good day to be a Hero of the Motherland! Nobody could possibly challenge the Soviet Union now!   
***  
May 10th, 1945: Comrade-General Pavlichenko arrives by airship in Putingrad, with troop transports close behind. What little Draka air power existed before the Soviet arrival has ceased to exist, as has their navy; the few surviving Draka ships are being hunted down by the Japanese, which is handy for Glorious Soviet Motherland because it keeps them out of the way. The Red Army prepares to destroy their Hated Imperialist Foe once and for all…  
  
May 12th, 1945: Comrade-General Pavlichenko leads the 4th Division of the Red Army to war against the Draka holdouts in Zimbabwe. They are joined by masses of ex-serf volunteers, who are given outdated but functional guns and instructed to serve as auxiliaries. Pavlichenko has heavy air support but few tanks. Intelligence on Draka forces indicates little to no armor support and a general low quality of infantry forces, not to mention large numbers of sympathetic ex-serf militias in the area.   
  
May 14th-June 5th: A number of Draka prisoners from the ill-fated Europe and Middle East army groups are systematically exterminated by ex-serfs as Soviet guards look away. Soviet officials will deny that these captured troops ever existed for decades. A refueled Soviet tank force begins moving to reinforce Putin.   
  
May 16th: The USA and Britain finally get off their asses and decide on something in response to their diplomats’ reports and the incredibly rapid Soviet advance: Do nothing, except politely ask the Soviets to let some capitalist governments exist in central Africa. After all, the Draka are assholes, slavers, and the stories coming out of Italy and the Balkans are _not_ pretty. Both governments will be voted out of office in landslides in the next election cycle anyway. General Krukov prepares to leave his subordinate, General Vladimirov, in charge of the newly reformed Warsaw Pact and return to Moscow in response to the Premier’s summons.   
  
May 21st: first conflicts between Comrade-General Pavlichenko’s forces and a Draka fort. The fort holds for three hours before an airship bombardment allows ex-serf auxiliaries in through the broken walls. Comrade-General Pavlichenko orders the imprisonment pending trial of captured Draka civilians. Captured Draka officers are summarily tried by hasty military tribunal and executed over the next week.   
  
May 23rd-June 6th: Comrade-General Pavlichenko pushes further into Zimbabwe. Putin renames Khartoum “Pavlichenkograd” in her honor and pushes into the northern Congo, which mostly involves organizing the various ex—serf rebel groups into “worker’s republics”.   
  
June 7th: Premier Cherdenko meets with General Krukov in Moscow and updates him on the status of the Glorious Soviet Motherland and its new bloc in Europe. Premier Cherdenko, at Krukov’s urging following reports from the fronts, orders commendations for Comrade-General Putin and Comrade-General Pavlichenko, recommending the latter (seen as the architect of the conquest of the Middle East and South Africa) for the Order of Lenin and Hero of the Soviet Motherland decorations.   
  
June 8th-14th: NKVD-sponsored rebel groups contact the Glorious Soviet Motherland, swearing their allegiance; groups include West Saharan People’s Liberation Army in Morocco, Central African People’s Democratic Legion in the Congo, Gulf of Aden Socialist People’s Army in Somalia and Ethiopia, and the East African Proletarian Communist Liberation Force in Tanzania and Kenya. These groups will be set up as “fraternal Socialist republics”, puppets of the Soviet Union, over the next few months. Of course, Soviet conquests will be left under Soviet control; “fraternal Socialist spirit” and all that.   
  
June 10th: Comrade-General Pavlichenko reports from Zimbabwe; Draka control has been reduced to an area of southern Africa roughly containing most of Zimbabwe, Angola, Zambia, and part of Malawi. Soviet forces are bolstered by over three million armed and pissed-off ex-serf volunteers, not to mention several hundred thousand more heavily armed ex-serfs who have formed independent death squads mercilessly hunting and killing any and all Draka citizens they can find. Pavlichenko recommends not endorsing these death squads on the grounds of practicality (easier to organize and back the volunteers who are already fighting with the Red Army) and keeping the Glorious Soviet Motherland’s image better than that of the Draka.   
  
June 11th: Premier Cherdenko recommends endorsing the death squads mentioned by Comrade-General Pavlichenko in her report. General Krukov disagrees strenuously, favoring splitting the volunteers that have reported to Pavlichenko’s force into their own, nominally independent force and setting them up as an equally nominally independent state. Premier Cherdenko disagrees, equally strenuously, and insinuates that General Krukov is a counter-revolutionary and potential traitor to the people. General Krukov states that Premier Cherdenko is incompetent and lacks proper consideration for international diplomacy and military discipline. A philosophical discussion ensues.   
  
June 12th: Philosophical discussion continues. Some tank damage to Moscow and Leningrad.   
  
June 13th: Premier Cherdenko is posthumously declared an “enemy of the people” and “counter-revolutionary”. General Krukov orders Comrade-General Pavlichenko to hold her forces at the edge of Draka-controlled territory and return to Moscow. Comrade-General Putin is ordered to take his forces and nominally independent brigades in central Africa south to Draka-controlled areas, holding on the border of Draka territory until further notice.   
  
June 15th-July 3rd: NKVD-sponsored groups, on General Krukov’s orders, limit ethnic cleansing and begin shipping Draka prisoners to Soviet conquests and bases. Soviet units in North Africa help ex-slaves set up “fraternal Socialist republics” and “elect” provisional delegates to General Krukov’s proposed Comitern (a “socialist brotherhood of fraternal proletarian republics”, presided over, of course, by the Soviet Union; de facto an organized network of Soviet puppets). Remaining Draka forces, suffering heavy casualties from rebel serfs and crippling food shortages, pull back into Angola and Zambia, but are cut off from the sea by a Soviet blockade. Putin sets up a rudimentary “People’s Socialist Dominion” in the Congo. Logistical difficulties force the Soviet forces to stop their advance again, and Putin’s progress through the Congo, even with friendly locals, is slow at best.   
  
June 27th: After five days of deliberation, the Politburo elects Comrade-General Pavlichenko as interim Premier, to finish Premier Cherdenko’s term until the next election. Premier Pavlichenko, first Ukrainian Premier of the Glorious Soviet Motherland, immediately orders a massive buildup on the borders of Draka-controlled areas.   
  
July 15th: Putin’s vanguard reaches the border of the last Draka-controlled region and stops, fortifying the position.   
  
July 29th: Soviet forces have cut off the Draka from the sea, not that that would help them with their navy at the bottom of the ocean. Premier Pavlichenko addresses the Glorious Soviet Motherland for the first time by radio, having spent most of the previous month struggling to shore up the massively overextended supply lines before the Japanese get any funny thoughts about backstabbing or the President of the United States is recalled and replaced by someone competent.   
***  
 _Moscow. Capital of Glorious Soviet Motherland. July 29th, 1945_.   
  
Comrade-Premier Natalya Pavlichenko threw on her jacket and swiftly pinned on her three Orders of Lenin (second class, first class, and another second class), her Hero of the Soviet Motherland medal, and the two stars of Hero of the Soviet Union. “Shit. Comrade Lina, where did my Hero of Socialist Labor go? I can’t go out without all of my medals, that fathead in Propaganda will waste three hours of my time yelling at me about it.”   
  
“Here, I found it under the desk. Must have fallen.”   
  
Natalya accepted the shining star and pinned it on. “Thank you, Comrade. Well. How do I look?”   
  
Lina looked her up and down critically, holding her pen and clipboard (Natalya kept trying to convince her to upgrade to a PDA) with one hand. “Looks…here, let me fix that.” She reached out and straightened the Premier’s tie. “There. Even.”   
  
“Good, thank you, Comrade.” Natalya saluted the ex-serf crisply, accepted the returned salute with a brisk nod, and strode for the Premier’s balcony, where a microphone had been set up for her.   
  
The crowd in the Red Square roared as their Premier emerged. The brass band and choir arrayed beneath and on the balcony started into the [March of the Proletarian Soldiers of Glorious Soviet Motherland](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d3bkJTJ6O9Y).   
  
“ _Наш Советский Союз покоряет  
Весь мир от Европы к Неве на восто-ок  
Над землёй везде будут петь:  
Столица, водка, Советский медведь наш!_  
  
 _Наш Советский Союз покоряет  
Весь мир от Европы к Неве на восто-ок  
Над землёй везде будут петь:  
Столица, водка, Советский медведь наш!_  
  
 _Все народы здесь стоят того,  
Что мы все воплотили на свет,  
Благодарный низкий поклон  
От са-мой мо-гу-щес-твенной в мире!_  
  
 _Все народы здесь стоят того,  
Что мы все воплотили на свет,  
Благодарный низкий поклон  
От са-мой мо-гу-щес-твенной в мире!_  
  
 _Ааааа, аААаа!_  
  
 _Наш Советский Союз покоряет  
Весь мир от Европы к Неве на восто-ок  
Над землёй везде будут петь:  
Столица, водка, Советский медведь наш!_  
  
 _Наш Советский Союз покоряет  
Весь мир от Европы к Неве на восто-ок  
Над землёй везде будут петь:  
Столица, водка, Советский медведь наш!_  
  
 _Ааааа, аААааааа!_ ”   
  
By the end of it all, Natalya’s ears were ringing. She resisted the urge to wince or rub them, and reminded herself to have the idiot who put the trumpets behind her podium fired. Below, the crowd roared their approval. Natalya gave them a minute, and raised her hand for silence.   
  
“Comrades! Brothers and sisters of our Glorious Soviet Motherland! Our victory over the slaver degenerates is at hand!” More cheers, as expected. “The armies of our Motherland have reduced the fascist pigs to around ten thousand square kilometers of southern Africa. Our new allies, the valiant Japanese, have secured the Indian Ocean and subdued remaining Draka units in China, and General Krukov’s proletarian forces have liberated a new Warsaw Pact in the West to defend the frontiers of the Motherland. Yet, I have heard it asked, what shall we do with the liberated people of Asia and Africa? Well, for me, it is a simple answer; the peoples of Africa shall be given Soviet assistance in building Socialist Labor and advancing technologically, and the peoples of Asia that we have liberated from the oppression of the Draka jackboot shall be invited to join our glorious Soviet Motherland. Some treacherous counter-revolutionaries, primarily from the imperialist slavers, have been spreading vile rumors by radio that we plan to make the free peoples of the African proletariat into mere puppets of the Soviet Union; I assure you all that these are vile lies! We shall offer our eternal friendship and military aid to the proletarian peoples of Africa, but I personally promise that the fraternal Comrades of this newly liberated continent shall follow their own path to a socialist workers’ paradise without interference from the Soviet Union. My grandmother fought the Hitlerite scum in the Great Patriotic War, and my mother fought for the Motherland under Comrade-Premier Brezhnev in the War of Allied Aggression. I am a woman of deep proletarian roots, and I am glad to fight and die for the Proletariat, for the Motherland, and for the workers of the world!” The crowd cheered again. Again Natalya held up a hand.   
  
“Our proletarian soldiers have made great strides across Asia and Africa in these past six months, my Comrades, but our revolutionary duties are yet completed! Still the Draka filth hold on to control of an area in southern Africa! Still the Draka slavers oppress and enslave the proletariat of the African people, even as those working-class comrades yearn for socialist liberation! But our Red Army prepares again for war, a grand crusade to liberate the proletariat of Africa once and for all. Even now we are training the former slaves that we have already liberated as soldiers in the service of the eternal Socialist Revolution. Comrade Lina!”   
  
Lina walked out onto the balcony, blush barely visible on her medium-brown skin as Natalya gestured to her with one arm. “Witness, Comrades! This is Comrade Lina, a Corporal in the Red Army of our Glorious Soviet Motherland. She is from the Fraternal Persian People’s Republic, the newest state of the great Soviet Union, and was freed from imperialist oppression in our liberation of that region from the Draka scum. Now, she is a valiant soldier for Proletarian Freedom and the glory of our Soviet Motherland!”   
  
Natalya held the microphone out to Lina, who saluted crisply. “Gladly will I give my life for the Motherland! Death to the slaver oppressors! Victory to our Soviet Revolution, and freedom to the peoples of the world! _Za Rodinu! Za Pavlichenko! Za Lenin!_ ”   
  
The crowd roared even more loudly, despite Lina’s imperfect Russian, and Natalya focused on not wincing. As they quieted, she replaced the microphone and reached out, grabbing Lina in a one-armed hug. Lina blushed again.   
  
Finally, the crowd quieted again. Natalya released Lina and saluted the crowd. “I will be speaking with the ambassadors of the Allied powers, our Japanese allies, and our proletarian brothers in Finland in half an hour, and when the fate of the world is established, I will personally lead our Red Army to victory over the imperialist swine once and for all. Through Socialist Labor and by the power of Soviet steel, our Motherland will be victorious! Glory to the Soviet Motherland! _Za Rodinu!_ ”   
  
Natalya saluted once more, nodded to Lina, and left, and the crowd cheered once more as the band started with the [Anthem of Glorious Soviet Motherland](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U06jlgpMtQs).   
  
“ _Союз нерушимый республик свободных  
Сплотила навеки Великая Русь.  
Да здравствует созданный волей народов  
Единый, могучий Советский Союз!_  
  
 _Славься, Отечество наше свободное,  
Дружбы народов надёжный оплот!  
Знамя Советское, знамя народное  
Пусть от победы к победе ведёт!  
Сквозь грозы сияло нам солнце свободы,  
И Ленин великий нам путь озарил:  
Нас вырастил Сталин — на верность народу,  
На труд и на подвиги нас вдохновил!_  
  
 _Славься, Отечество наше свободное,  
Счастья народов надёжный оплот!  
Знамя Советское, знамя народное  
Пусть от победы к победе ведёт!  
Мы армию нашу растили в сраженьях.  
Захватчиков подлых с дороги сметём!  
Мы в битвах решаем судьбу поколений,  
Мы к славе Отчизну свою поведём!_  
  
 _Славься, Отечество наше свободное,  
Славы народов надёжный оплот!  
Знамя Советское, знамя народное  
Пусть от победы к победе ведёт_!”   
  
Natalya shut the door on the song with a sigh of relief. “That was too damned loud. You alright?”   
  
Lina twisted a finger inside her right ear, wincing. “I think so. That _hurt_!”   
  
“I need to fire whichever idiot thought that trumpets right behind my head was a good idea,” Natalya muttered. “Fucking moron. Alright, Comrade, I need to talk with the ambassadors and figure out what to do with the mess the slaver filth left in Africa. Pass me the tentative plans?”   
  
“Right here,” Lina said, passing over a couple of sheets from her clipboard.   
  
“Right. People’s Socialist Dominion, et cetera, ‘international zones’, Soviet protection, Comitern expansion…workable, workable. Tell Krukov thank you for me, would you? Also—‘For Pavlichenko’, really? I’m not Comrade Lenin, you know, just a general. If you want to salute a Hero of the Motherland, you should probably stick to _Za Stalina_ or _Za tovarischa Lenina_. Comrade Lenin is always a favorite, after all, for leading the Revolution.”   
  
Lina blushed. “I do not know Stalin or Comrade Lenin, though. I do know Comrade-Premier Pavlichenko, who rescued me from imperialist slavery.”   
  
Natalya chuckled at that. “You are too kind. Also, here. There’s an officer’s club off of Lady Death Square that has an excellent borscht, you should head down there and get a good square meal. Show them that chit at the door and say Comrade Pavlichenko sent you, I’ll call ahead to make sure they let you in.” She saluted her aide crisply. “I’ll be done late, so take your time, get some sleep, I won’t need an aide until at least noon tomorrow. Glory to the Motherland!”   
  
“ _Za Rodinu!_ ” Lina replied with a salute. Pavlichenko saluted crisply and marched out.   
***  
July 29th-August 4th, 1945: Comrade-Premier Pavlichenko meets with UK, US, French, Japanese, and Finnish ambassadors. Her grandmother having lived through the Winter War, even quietly having a daughter by a Finnish sniper who almost killed her in a sniper duel in early 1940, the Premier is more than willing to support General Krukov’s plan to allow Finnish independence, and with the Japanese team proposes the formation of multiple Chinese states to better control the region. The Soviets will set up multiple socialist states in the former Draka-controlled region, and the Japanese will hold Manchuria and set up a puppet Republic of China in the other regions that they captured in the Draka-led conquest of China. The Premier supports the retention of western Europe, India, and the parts of Southeast Asia that the Japanese haven’t already grabbed as the UK and US’s sphere of influence, but insists that Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan, and the Middle East be made part of the Soviet Union, pledging to respect the “ancient traditions of the people of the proletarian republics of the Middle East”. Japan agrees to keep Madagascar in exchange for the bits of Arabia and Africa that they’ve grabbed, and Pavlichenko promises to keep the new states in Africa as independent states outside of the Soviet Union. The port cities of Putingrad, Cape Town, Rabat, Casablanca, and Cairo will remain as “international zones” under Soviet supervision (de facto Soviet ports and zones of control) for a century, and the Soviet Union will rebuild Johannesburg with the Socialist People’s Republic of South Africa’s (soon to be part of the South African Socialist Union) help.   
  
Faced with overwhelming Soviet power in the air, on the seas, and on land, and with Soviet spacecraft preparing to reprovision _Mir_ (with plans being openly drafted for an armed “Defense Station”, tentatively called _Free Motherland_ ), the Allies grudgingly accept the proposal. The Soviets have to deal with their puppets in Eastern and Central Europe anyway, not to mention the huge mess that the Draka have left in Africa and Asia, and the Allies need to figure out what the fuck to do with the aftermath of the Draka genocide and enslavement campaigns in Italy. The Japanese, meanwhile, have gained a shitload of stepstones on the way to secured regional power, and are happy to accept low prices on new Soviet oil in exchange for handing the bits in Africa and Arabia that they’d taken to the Soviets.   
  
Finland is just happy to exist unchallenged, _and_ with a protection pledge from the Soviets _independent_ of the group of puppets known as the Warsaw Pact, and starts looking for this Simo Häyhä guy. If they put him in the government, maybe the Premier will be even more conciliatory! She claims he’s family, after all…  
  
August 2nd-6th, 1945: Draka forces attack Comrade-General Putin’s lines in desperation, and Soviet troops fall back several miles in the targeted areas. Putin responds with airship bombardments and Tesla troopers reinforced by spider mechs and cybernetically-enhanced stormtroopers. Draka losses are heavy, and several dozen soldiers are captured and sent to Siberia.   
  
On the homefront, Soviet factories begin churning out massive amounts of farming equipment to help support the new nations in Africa.   
  
August 7th, 1945: Communist Libya, the Egyptian Workers’ Soviet, and the People’s Socialist Dominion of the Congo announce their unending support of the Soviet Union and request to join the Comitern. They will be accepted, and the Soviets will later leverage their goodwill to build three “mini-USSRs” in Africa; the North African, East African, and Southern African Socialist Unions, as they will be called, will form a cheerleading squad with teeth for the Soviet Union, though it will be a long decade of investment before they really start to play ball at the international level. The People’s Socialist Dominion of the Congo will remain independent, mostly to keep to the word of the Premier’s promise to leave Africa independent.   
  
Even with massive support from the ex-slave rebels, it’s taking incredible amounts of time, supplies, and effort from the Soviet bureaucracy and military to set up proper states in Africa. Draka, ex-slave, and ex-Janissary bandits are a serious problem in areas without a large Soviet presence, and with a large portion of the military being used to hem in the last remaining organized Draka until another Vacuum Imploder can be assembled and inserted via air or spacecraft, the Soviets just don’t have the troops to spare to police an entire continent while digesting their conquests.   
  
August 10th, 1945: Briefed on the situation in Africa, Premier Pavlichenko issues new general orders: NKVD officers in Africa are to assist the local ex-slaves in setting up functioning states. Supply airships begin to fly from Ukraine and the Asian steppes, as the precipitous drop in food production in the former Domination begins to set in.   
  
August 19th, 1945: Draka forces try to push through to the sea, and are repelled after heavy fighting by Soviet twinblades. Shortages of troops and supplies, even with previous reinforcement, are preventing the Soviets from striking into remaining Draka territory, but the Draka just don’t have the firepower to break free.   
  
August 23rd, 1945: Satellite photos of Draka-held areas are examined by Soviet intelligence officers, who conclude that the Draka are almost out of fuel and have few functioning tanks. Premier Pavlichenko arrives near the front lines. Bandit activity is beginning to be suppressed across North Africa and most of East and South Africa; the Congo is still a hive.   
  
August 26th-September 2nd, 1945: Soviet forces move slowly into Draka-held areas. Draka resistance is stiff but low armor and lack of air support forces them to fall back while taking heavy casualties. Soviet forces stop after 30 miles to readjust and conserve fuel.   
  
September 6th-16th, 1945: Libya has decent control over most of its territory, albeit with much Soviet aid. Finland is making a killing buying cheap supplies from South America and the Allies, and then selling it at only a slight markup to the Soviets. The Soviets are getting low on cash, but the Finns don’t care, they can just ask for tech instead, and anyway the Soviets selling cheap Middle Eastern oil to the Finns while the Finns are selling it to the Allies at a markup is injecting some cash back into the USSR as it makes Finland rich as shit. Draka forces attempt three halfhearted assaults on Soviet lines, this time trying nerve gas for the first time since the initial Soviet attacks, but to little effect.   
  
September 14th: Premier Pavlichenko orders an aerial bombardment of Draka positions. With no remaining anti-air forces, the Draka take a severe beating before leaving their forts and attempting to set up elsewhere. Many are killed by ex-slave death squads and Soviet hunting parties. Draka “control”, such as it is, is down to five thousand square kilometers of land and about twenty thousand soldiers, with maybe ten thousand civilians, all of whom are experiencing massive attrition from starvation and ex-slave wolfpacks. With harvest season coming up and the Soviets offering their aid, the massive ex-slave armies experience a massive numbers drop-off as rebels head to the nearest fields and help the harvest for food and pay.   
  
September 15th-27th: Soviet operatives and teachers begin to set up combined technical schools/Soviet propaganda houses across Africa and the Middle East. Soviet farming equipment and mechanization is making the harvest of the former Domination rich and easy enough to feed the people despite the damage of the war.   
  
September 20th: Draka infantry forces attempt to break through Soviet lines in Zambia. The Soviets hold the line; the Draka commit more of their few remaining troops. Soviet forces converge on the area.   
  
September 21st-23rd: Conflict in Zambia escalates. More than fifteen thousand Draka troops eventually commit to battle against thirty thousand Soviet infantry, Tesla troopers, spider mechs, tanks, aircraft, and even combat cyborgs. Comrade-General Putin personally commands the battle; Premier Pavlichenko takes an airship to the front.   
  
September 24th: Five thousand Draka soldiers and ten thousand armed citizen civilians attempt to sneak through Soviet lines in Angola, counting on the ongoing conflict in Zambia to distract the armies of the Motherland. They are caught by ex-slave scouts, and a force of Soviet twinblades and airships moves in to destroy the Draka remnant. Anybody else would surrender immediately; the Draka, however, seem to lack a self-preservation instinct. 95% of the adult Draka are killed, some while trying to kill their own children after annihilation becomes certain. The survivors and the few children still with the Draka civilians are sent to re-education camps, the adults to spend the rest of their lives lifting rocks and the children to be put through Soviet schools and “trained into loyal citizens of the Motherland”.   
  
September 25th: Three hundred remaining Draka soldiers surrender to the Soviet Union. Soviet forces begin to sweep the former Draka-held region for stragglers. Putin sends the prisoners to the Motherland to be tried and sent to Siberia.   
  
October: Soviet forces finish sweeping the former Draka-held region and redeploy to help police the former Domination. The Middle East is formally assimilated into the Soviet Union, giving Mother Russia control over the world’s richest oil fields. The most senior prisoner the Soviets can find, a former member of the Draka Security Directorate, signs an unconditional surrender with only a little torture to prod him into doing so. NKVD officials express their displeasure at the Draka’s lack of resilience.   
  
November: Premier Pavlichenko formally recognizes the newly-formed North African Socialist Union, East African Worker’s Soviet, East African Socialist Union, South African Socialist Union, and People’s Socialist Dominion of the Congo. These states, together with the Warsaw Pact (Soviet Motherland and Soviet Motherland’s little Commie Buddies ™ and puppets), Chinese People’s Republic, Harmonious Worker’s Union, and Tibetan People’s League, form the Comitern, a massive bloc that straddles two and a half continents. Japan enters into a treaty of mutual friendship and nonaggression as well as several trade deals with the Soviet Union. Finland settles in for a rewarding century as the middleman between the Comitern and the Allies; already the little nation is raking in the cash. The Allies struggle to readjust their foreign policy and try to patch up the nightmare that the Draka left in Italy as the Soviet Union pours capital into its new provinces, puppets, and cheerleaders. Socialist movements start in the United States’s Central American and Mexican provinces, and in Gran Colombia; the USSR denies involvement, and for once it’s plausible.   
  
December: After more than a month of trials, six hundred and forty-seven Draka prisoners are publicly executed for “crimes against the people”. Premier Pavlichenko declares a month of celebration across the Soviet Motherland, and the Soviets’ allies follow suit. A statue of Comrade Lenin is raised in Cape Town, a towering monument of Comrade-General Putin astride a great battle bear and trampling Draka underfoot is erected in Putingrad, and Premier Pavlichenko protests as plans are drawn up for a statue of “Premier Pavlichenko Leading the People to Victory” in Pavlichenkograd.   
  
While it will take the better part of a year to fully restore proper order to all of Africa, and most of a decade to bring the continent up to Soviet living standards, all Soviet citizens and former slaves know that the world is a better place. For the Draka, their state, and every aspect of their vile culture have been systematically expunged.   
  
The Snakes have been stomped. Glory to Mother Russia!   
***  
 _Moscow, Capital of Glorious Soviet Motherland. 0100 hours Moscow time. December 25th, 1945_.   
  
Comrade-Premier Natalya Pavlichenko leaned back on her couch with a sigh, passing a glass of vodka to Comrade Lina. “Merry Christmas, Comrade.”   
  
“Thank you, Comrade Natalya,” Lina replied, accepting Natalya’s toast. The Premier of Glorious Soviet Motherland tilted her head back with another groan, allowing herself to slump into the cushions. “Are you alright?”   
  
“Tired. Long, long day.” Natalya tossed her vodka down her throat and set aside her glass. “It is surprisingly complicated to fund and oversee public-works projects for a continent, even with Soviet technology. What’s that on your computer?”   
  
Lina turned her laptop. “Alternatehistory.sov. I’m apparently rather popular as an ex-slave. The old members like the first-person accounts.”   
  
Natalya grunted. “Just as long as you’re not having emotional distress from reliving that life. What’s this thread?”   
  
“I’m writing a story, based on these ‘Throne of Blood’ books that this Latvian comrade wrote. I, ah, had something like the Change happen, only it put just one Soviet soldier into Easteros. Now she has to fight to bring Socialist revolution to the monarchist dystopia.”   
  
“’Comrade-General Pavlichenko washed her long, supple legs in the warm, soapy water, her muscular form like that of an angel come to save Yulia from…’” Natalya read.   
  
Lina yelped and pulled the computer away. “Um, you weren’t supposed to see that, Comrade-Premier. I am so sorry…”   
  
Natalya laughed. “Please, Comrade. If you want to put me in a story about those books, I don’t mind at all. Hell, when I was a Colonel—this was back when only ‘A Scheme Of Blood’ was out—I wrote five hundred pages of this gratuitous Yegeny Krushenko/Yuri Romanov relationship fan-fiction. I still have it somewhere on my old computer, actually. I will show you some time, but only if you do not tell anyone.” The Premier half-turned to hide a blush. “It was…a little graphic.”   
  
As Lina processed this information, the Premier’s pager chimed. Natalya cursed and fumbled out her videophone. “Hello? Premier Pavlichenko here.”   
  
“My apologies, Comrade, for bothering you at such an hour,” said General Krukov over the screen, “but the Allies are looking for their Pope again? They say that they haven’t found him after searching Italy and are insisting that we have him somewhere.”   
  
“Shit. Um, get Putin on it, ask for a physical description. Have the NKVD send a couple of men to find the man, too. We’re too overextended to afford to piss off the capitalists, at least for now. I’ll make a statement in the morning, tell them that, too.”   
  
“Understood. I will instruct General Putin to oversee the search, Comrade-Premier. And have a good night, Premier. Glory to the Motherland!”   
  
“Glory to the Motherland.” Natalya closed her videophone. “Sorry about that, Comrade Lina. Oh, right! I forgot, I got you a gift.”   
  
“You did?” Lina looked slightly…surprised? Natalya couldn’t tell. The Premier reached under the couch and grabbed a wrapped box from underneath.   
  
“Yes, here, Comrade. I hope that you enjoy it.”   
  
Lina pulled off the paper, and gasped. “Oh! I…I didn’t know you’d saved this!”   
  
“Well, you looked good in the uniform, and they ended up not using it for propaganda, because they said Comrade Volkova was ‘more photogenic’ than me, so I bribed a man in _Pravda_ ’s photo division for the negatives and got a nice print for you.”   
  
Lina set aside the framed picture of her and Natalya in uniform, the day Lina had officially joined the Red Army as a Soviet citizen, and hugged the Premier fiercely. “Thank you! I’ll treasure it forever, I promise.”   
  
“You’re welcome,” Natalya replied, patting Lina on the back. “I thought you might like a memento of your first day as a truly free woman. Oh, shit, and I forgot the pastries, that was stupid of me…”   
  
“Wait, don’t get up!” Lina released the Premier, darted over to a chair by the fireplace, and pulled a little box from beneath the cushion. “Here, I got it for you after talking with a Lieutenant Dacha at the officers’ club in October.”   
  
“Dacha Fyodorovna? Just so you’re aware, she’s looking for a new ‘friend’ after her husband ran away with a shepherdess and moved to Siberia, the rat bastard. She’ll probably try to seduce you.”   
  
“She did,” Lina admitted with a blush as Natalya tore off the brown paper. “She bought me dinner twice and insisted on walking me home. Comrade-General Krukov told me what she was doing on the day after the second time, though, he pulled me aside while I was waiting for you at the club.”   
  
“Hmm, I must thank Nikolai for that. Wait, is this—oh, no, Comrade, you shouldn’t have…”   
  
“Well, the other thing I learned from Comrade-General Krukov was how to justify expenses. He is a very nice man, really. I think that he likes you, beneath all of the gruffness.”   
  
Natalya pulled out a thin, simple necklace of gold links. “But this is too much, really, Comrade—how much did this cost?”   
  
“Well, they gave me a discount when I said I was your assistant and it was a gift for you, and because you never use even half of your personal budget and you’ve been having me eat off of your salary, I was able to save up quite a bit…”   
  
“But I can’t accept this, oh, Comrade Lina, I’m sorry, it’s too much…”  
  
“You…you don’t like it?”   
  
Natalya caught herself, some reptilian level of consciousness frantically kicking her higher brain functions. “Well, no, it’s lovely, Comrade, it’s very pretty and just my style, but I don’t want to see you go hungry just to get me a little gift…”   
  
Lina snorted. “I have learned budgeting very well, Comrade Natalya. Trust me, I will not be going hungry. And besides, I saw it and I just _had_ to get it for you—it matches your eyes so well.”   
  
Natalya hemmed and hawed, but put the necklace on. “Well…I do like it, a lot, Comrade Lina. Thank you so much!”   
  
Lina blushed yet again. “It was nothing, really, Comrade Natalya.”   
  
Natalya reached out and pulled the ex-slave into a hug. “Nonsense. Best present I’ve gotten since my grandmother died of sheer contrariness and my mother went down in that skirmish with the old Allies back in the old world in ’03.” She kissed Lina on the cheek, then drew back. “Er, I’m sorry, Comrade…”   
  
“Oh, you don’t need to apologize, Comrade Premier,” said Lina, “as long as you do that again.”   
  
Natalya paused. Her reptile brain, about to throw in the towel, kicked at her higher consciousness with renewed vigor. “Do you…like me, Comrade Lina? As, as more than a friend?”   
  
Lina raised one eyebrow. “Comrade Dacha was right. You, Natalya Nazarovna Pavlichenko, cannot see what is right in front of your eyes unless it is a battle map or an actual battlefield. Did you really think that you were getting all of those flowers from Propaganda?”   
  
“Er, I thought that they were the Finnish ambassador’s attempts to appease or bribe me,” the middle-aged woman admitted, embarrassed. “They were my grandmother’s favorite because Grandfather sent them to her after the Great Patriotic War, when my mother was young. Wait, you were at that meeting!”   
  
“Yes, I heard everything, and remembered it.”   
  
“And the poems? And— _did YOU propose that statue in North Africa_?”   
  
“No! That one wasn’t me, at all. The Pavlichenkograd city council came up with that one on their own, I swear.”   
  
“Damn,” said Natalya, turning to look straight ahead of her. She looked at the bottle of vodka on the table, considered it for a moment, leaned forwards, poured herself a tall glass, and downed it in one gulp. “Alright then. Damn. I’m an idiot.”   
  
“No, Comrade Natalya, just focused on a very heroic duty,” Lina replied. “A duty that you have performed excellently, too. Nine months to destroy the vile slavers, and to free a continent and a half from imperialist slavery and oppression!”   
  
Natalya chuckled. “Indeed. I guess I’ll go into the history books as a Hero of the Motherland now, eh?”   
  
“I believe so, Comrade Natalya.”   
  
“Well then.” Natalya set down her glass. “If I’m going to be in the history books, I will do it with a beautiful, intelligent, free Comrade at my side.” She put an arm around Lina’s shoulders and leaned in. “Thank you, Comrade. I couldn’t have done it without you to inspire me.”   
  
Lina kissed her, and Natalya understood why her grandmother had slept with that Finn in the middle of the woods in -40 degree weather in a snowstorm.   
  
Some things just happened, and you made up the rest as you went along.


End file.
